


Royal AU One-Shot: "I thought I might... give it to you, actually."

by deactivatedaio



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: King Alistair (Dragon Age), King Alistair and Queen Cousland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22859575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deactivatedaio/pseuds/deactivatedaio
Summary: An AU where Alistair is not left in the Fade, and instead, gets to become King alongside Queen Consort Ariadne Cousland, because I will never forgive myself for my canon playthrough.
Relationships: Alistair & Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Royal AU One-Shot: "I thought I might... give it to you, actually."

“Do we have any apples?”

Everyone in the kitchen froze. The cook, knife poised mid-chop; the scullery maids, aprons full of produce freshly-harvested from the gardens; even a lone footman, mug of coffee still held to his lips, a chunk of sweet roll clutched in one hand. It was a still-life painting that could have been titled “A Scene from the Royal Kitchens”.

But in actuality, it would be called “King Alistair Surprises Staff. Again.”

“Ah, yes. There we are.” Alistair crossed the kitchen, plucked an apple from one of the maid’s aprons, and shined it on his chest. “Lovely. Thank you.”

And just like that, he ambled away, dumbfounded stares following him until he disappeared. The cook heaved a heavy, long-winded sigh.

“Back to work, everyone.” She waved her knife, and the maids sprung back into action. With a shake of her head, the cook began chopping once more. “Thank the Maker that the Queen gets back tonight. I’d likely die of shock if she didn’t.”

—-

Covered in dust and grime from travel, desperately needing both a bath and brandy, Ariadne Cousland, Queen Consort of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Hero of Ferelden and Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens, walked into her own bedroom expecting comfort and instead found chaos.

The drapes hung askew. The bedspread had a long, jagged tear across one corner. Her bedside table had been knocked over, now lying on its side, the contents of its drawer spilling onto the floor. And there was a mysterious puddle in the corner that, under another circumstance, Ari would investigate more closely. 

What she did not find, however, was her husband.

Ari’s olive skin was flushed with heat from the summer sun, her long hair was tousled like straw from the windy ride, but it seemed she would remain disheveled for a while longer. Cranky and overheated, she dropped her gear onto the floor with a discordant clang and shed every layer of clothing except her chemise, scowling at her closet. 

That, at least, appeared unadulterated by whatever small hurricane had decimated her bedchamber. Yanking it open, Ari grabbed a dressing gown in plush emerald silk and threw it on.

She belted it securely around a frame that used to be considered “too round” and “unflatteringly dense” before she became queen but now was more complimentarily referred to as “lush”. Were it up to her, no one would comment at all - though the remarks did lessen after she began training in the courtyard, hefting a sword almost half as tall as she was.

Nothing shut people up as efficiently as the possibility of losing a tooth. Or an arm.

Ari tried to shake off her foul mood as she whisked out of her quarters and into the adjacent study, one of four rooms in the private suite she shared with Alistair. It stood open and empty but seemed no different than when she had departed five weeks earlier. A brief glance into the library revealed the same. That left only the large sitting room, a less formal space where the regents could host family, friends, and their favorite delegates without bothering with the pomp of a royal reception. It opened into a cozy walled garden where Ari planted and tended to medicinal flowers and herbs - and her rose bush, a wedding gift to her husband.

Said husband’s voice floated out from behind the closed study door, and Ari hesitated when she realized he was talking to someone. But who? No one was due today. She had specifically made sure of that.

She opened the door, and her eyes lit on the unexpected guest who sat opposite Alistair, staring at her husband with adoration.

“Stay,” he drew the word out, looked up at Ari, and his whole face lit up, the force of his joy knocking the irritation right out of her.

“Who’s this?”

Alistair unfolded his large frame from where he had been crouched on the floor, a slice of apple still held out between two fingers. With his other arm, he reached for her, and Ari stepped into his embrace, winding her arms around his waist.

“You have missed Della so much this last year,” he started to explain, gesturing with the apple slice. A small, round head and two enormous golden eyes followed the motion, never breaking away. “So when I was at market, and there was a basket full of them, and this one just sat so prim and polite even while her brothers and sisters romped around her,” Alistair stopped gesturing, turned his head to offer Ari a sheepish smile. “And I thought of you.”

Ari struggled against the urge to grin and take his face between her hands, instead nodding solemnly, returning her attention to the mottled grey and white form at her feet. “I see.”

“Do you like her?”

Lowering to her knees and plucking the apple slice from him, Ari remained silent. She offered the apple on her open palm to the small thing, and their eyes, similar shades of golden-brown, met over it.

The pup sniffed her hand delicately but did not snatch the treat away. Prim and proper indeed.

“Go ahead, little girl.”

Smart as any other Mabari and twice as well-behaved as Della had been, the pup took it, munching on it and eyeing Ari with a look that, while skeptical, seemed to be warming up.

Ari lifted her gaze to Alistair and graced him with a warm smile of her own. 

“I love her.”

Grinning like a besotted fool, Alistair handed her another piece of apple, which she in turn fed to the puppy. “I didn’t give her a name. I wanted you to have the honor. And I have a bed for her, though she seems to prefer ours, which reminds me,” he paused, cringing a little. “I left her in the bedchamber when I went to get the apple. She, ah…”

“Destroyed it. And piddled in the corner.”

Alistair hung his head, appropriately repentant for exactly two seconds, before offering another smile. “I’ll clean it up?”

Ari stood, holding her hand out to the pup. When the dog was at her feet, she turned her palm out, angled it down, and said firmly, “Sit.”

The pup sat. Alistair looked bemused.

“How did you get her to do that? It took me two apples and a wedge of cheese before she would listen to me.”

Ari glanced at him. “Why didn’t you have the footman fetch what you needed?”

“I know where the pantry is.”

“Alistair. You didn’t just… walk into the kitchens again, did you?”

“No.”

Ari and the pup shared a meaningful glance. Alistair sighed. “All right. Yes.”

“You do realize you’re their King? And that it is quite a shock to have royalty just waltz into a space full of his subjects unannounced?” Ari shooed the puppy outside into the garden to destroy some plants instead of more upholstery, closing the glass doors and regarding Alistair. Her lips curved, half a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He sat down on the chaise, running a hand through his hair. “I do all the king stuff! Taxes, diplomacy, meetings, et cetera. Not sure I’ll ever get used to the other bits.”

She stepped over to him, caught his chin in her hand. Sliding her palm along his cheek, scratchy with a day’s growth of stubble, Ari finally let her smile bloom in full. “I know. And you do an excellent job at the king stuff.”

“A lot of people tend to loudly point out otherwise, but I believe you.” His tone was teasing, but it held truth. Even Alistair couldn’t please everyone, despite his attempts to try.

She straddled his lap, his hand coming to rest on her lower back, the other brushing a stray hair away from her cheek. Her arms snaked around his neck and she settled, just as comfortable and secure there as she had been for almost ten years. Leaning forward, Ari sampled his mouth, and he tasted like home.

“Good.”

And then, because she had missed him during her weeks playing ambassador to Orlais, because she loved him and his total lack of artifice, and because even after so many years, he still made her pulse race and her skin heat, she sealed her lips to his and plundered.

A small sound of surprise escaped him, quickly turning into a low moan. With a familiarity borne of repetition, Alistair explored her body, lingering where he liked best until her robe was parted and pooled around her hips and both their breaths quickened.

Ari pulled back enough to gaze at him. He raised an eyebrow slowly, and when she flashed her teeth in a wide grin, he turned various shades of pink and immediately launched into almost-frantic action. 

She had just enough time to kneel on the chaise next to him before Alistair divested himself of every article of clothing, throwing each one unceremoniously into the corner. Before he reached for her, though, she pointed past him. 

“Lock the door.”

Grumbling, he stalked to the door, locked it with a definitive click, and then advanced on her. Heat gathered low and liquid in her belly. He was striking, lean and well-sculpted, all golden. All hers. 

She held out a hand.

“Sit.”

On a small laugh, he settled next to her, tugging her back into his lap, his lips at the hollow of her throat and his hands everywhere, pulling off her chemise until they were pressed skin to skin. Her fingers traced the muscles of his shoulders and back, his danced along her hips and around to the insides of her thighs that bracketed his own. When they caressed the juncture between, they found her slick and ready. 

The discovery made him groan and her gasp. Ari bit at his mouth; Alistair slipped a finger into and out of her, drawing it over her sensitive flesh. She felt his grin against her lips.

When she nudged him back, he obeyed, until he was half-reclined beneath her. Ari paused a moment to study him, her fingers stroking low on his stomach, but he only watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, still smiling.

No amount thanks to Andraste, or the Maker she served, would ever be enough, Ari thought. And then she wrapped her hand around him, making his back arch, and held him in place as she lowered her hips, taking him into her.

His moan was long and deep, and when she began to rock her hips, ended on a soft curse - or a prayer. She laughed softly, but he retaliated, thrusting unexpectedly upward and throwing her off-balance with a sharp groan.

She caught herself on his shoulders, and he gripped her hips, securing her in place while they both moved in perfect tandem. When his body began to tense under hers, she whispered everything she wanted, everything she felt, into his ear, and every one of his gasped breaths drove her further forward the edge.

His body bowed. His eyes opened, pinned hers. And with one choked word, he pushed her over the edge.

“Please.”

Every muscle in her body tightened and she crushed her mouth to his, her cry of release muffled by his lips. Then his hips jerked once, twice, and he fell with her.

—-

Ari had her face buried in the crook of his neck, Alistair’s hand stroking up and down the length of her back slowly. She pressed a kiss there, enjoying the dark, spicy scent that lingered at the delicate skin where his pulse beat in time with her own. This, for her, was worth all the boredom and tension that came with being a regent. This was worth everything.

Suddenly, she had an idea.

Ari lifted her head and levered herself up enough to peer over the back of the low sofa and out the door to the garden beyond where the Mabari puppy slept in a patch of sun, a tiny storm cloud surrounded by light. 

“Duchess.”

“Who?” Alistair’s voice was sleepy, and he opened one eye to peer up at her.

“The puppy. I’ll call her Duchess.”

Eye closing, Alistair nodded once. “Perfect. Fits her.”

As Ari settled back down, her husband cuddling her securely against him, she had no choice but to agree. 

Perfect.


End file.
